


Séguedilla

by Mazen



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, I only wanted to write smut but then it turned into a plot, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazen/pseuds/Mazen
Summary: When Christine suddenly has to play the ironic Carmen, she realizes that she doesn't know much about the exotic passion that the role requires. So she turns to La Sorelli for advice.





	Séguedilla

**Author's Note:**

> Erik has a bed in this instead of a coffin. It's crucial to the plot, you know.

La Carlotta was rarely ill and never took time off unless it was off season at the opera. It was only if she threw a tantrum and refused to perform that there was need for an understudy. 

After Christine had performed one time instead of Carlotta when the latter had walked off the stage, there had been fewer servere tantrums. Carlotta knew that Christine was a threat to her position as prima donna and she wasn't going to give the managers opportunity to see the little mouse perform more than necessary. La Carlotta was not really intimated by a girl like that, but she knew that innocence was a popular oddity in the world of opera which was surely the only reason why anyone would find Christine interesting.

It was only because of that pathetic innocence that Carlotta wasn't worried about taking time off at the opera when she received word from Italy that her little sister had fallen seriously ill. Violetta meant so much to her and she wished to be there, just in case. Though she would miss the opening night, she was sure to be welcomed back with glee.

Because she knew that the little ingenue wouldn't be able to play the seductive role of Carmen. Her obvious innocence would be impossible to hide in such a ardent role. Christine would fail and everyone would realize that she wasn't prima donna material.

Yes, this little trip might prove to be quite beneficial to Carlotta.

 

***

"No, no, no!" M. Reyer rapidly lowered the baton to quiet the orchestra instantly. Everyone's blaming eyes seemed to focus on Christine once again. She felt like shrinking. "You're not even trying, are you, Mademoiselle Daaé?" M. Reyer accused her. "All right, take a short break, everyone! In 10 minutes Mlle Daaé will show us how Carmen is supposed to be played." He looked pointedly at her and she nodded nervously before running off to hide in her dressing room.

This rehearsal was going terribly. The next would as well. She couldn't blame it on the fact that Carmen was written for a mezzo soprano because it had been altered to fit La Carlotta's range which Christine could handle as well. Even with the alterations she knew all the songs by heart and could in theory sing them.

But the passion and sexuality that the role demanded were not a part of Christine. She had no experience or knowledge to draw on. She'd only been kissed chastely by Raoul and held hands with him. The ballet rats' wanton whispers and the raunchy encounters that took place in the opera halls were things she had actively avoided because she wanted to be morally good. 

It wasn't that she hadn't thought about these things and a hidden part of her wanted it, though she would never quite admit it. But she knew so little and not nearly enough to try and explore anything. And what would Raoul think of her if she moved further with him? He was nothing like his older brother Philippe who frolicked with the dancers, most recently La Sorelli. 

Christine sat down at her vanity and rested her head in her hands as she tried to picture what Carlotta had done on stage. It had seemed so natural to her. Like playing the role of Micaëla had been natural to Christine. But if she wanted to be prima donna one day, she had be able to handle the more difficult roles. Carmen was an extremely popular opera and though it was the first time the Opera Populaire performed it, it wouldn't be the last.

A knock came to her mirror and she mumbled for Erik to enter. He quietly slid the mirror aside and stepped into the room, his eyes already on her at the vanity. He looked so much larger than normal in her small space. "What is wrong, my dear?" He asked with the sort of voice that told her that he already knew. 

"I just can't handle this role! Carmen is everything I'm not: Passionate, daring, beautiful and sexual. How can I even begin to portray such a role?" She let her head drop into her hands again in despair. She would be fired! 

Erik kneeled next to her, perhaps in an attempt to comfort her. She felt so small, both in metaphorically speaking as well as literally. He was so much taller than her. Even if she rose from her seat, he would still tower over her head when kneeling.

"Christine, you are all those things and so much more!" From between her hands she saw him lift his hand to put it on her shoulder, then hesitated before lowering it again. "You are more passionate, daring, beautiful and sexu..." He shut his mouth abruptly for a moment. ".. More of all those things than anyone in this place." Christine sighed. Even Erik didn't think that she was sexual and he loved her. The suspicion she'd had that he wasn't romantically interested in her suddenly seemed to be the most likely scenario. 

"The only things you aren't are the worst parts of Carmen's personality." He continued reassuringly. "You're not fickle or a coquette. You would never attack another woman with a knife nor trick a man. You're good and kind and innoc-"

"Innocent?" She cried and lifted her head to catch his eyes. "That is exactly why I can't play Carmen and you know it, Erik. Don't lie!" He backed away from her - clearly because she was right - and stumbled over his words.

Then they heard the bell ring that told Christine it was time to humiliate herself once more. She turned to look herself in the mirror, wiping away a few tears of frustration and rose from her seat. When she walked past Erik, he grasped her upper arm for a moment to stop her before letting his hand drop from the touch. 

"Tonight after rehearsal. Let me help you prepare better for the role." The tone of his voice told her that he was expecting her to say no, but she nodded and mumbled "see you then" before dragging her feet up to the stage once more. 

She was grateful for Erik's assistance, truly, but he didn't seem to understand what held her back and she couldn't talk openly about these things with him. He was a man and a much older one at that. Maybe if her relationship with him felt more fatherly to her, but it had never been that way. Even when she had believed that he was the Angel of Music, she had wondered how an angel could sound so erotic. 

A blush crept over her skin as she thought about Erik's voice and she stopped for a second in the wings. A blush wouldn't help her look the part. 

She needed to talk to someone who had the same qualities as Carmen, she realized. And that's when she spotted La Sorelli across the stage, chatting up Piangi and the other men. 

***

After the afternoon's rehearsal it was time to seek help. Christine knocked quietly on Sorelli's door and waited patiently until a firm, but beautiful voice bade her to enter. 

La Sorelli was like an older sister to the young ballet rats as well as Christine. While Mama Valerius had been her guardian and Madame Giry much like her teacher, Sorelli had always been a carefree and sometimes irresponsible role model. But she always took care of her adopted little sisters, one of them being Christine. 

So when she entered Sorelli's dressing room, she imagined that her nervousness was similar to that of a young girl entering her big sister's room. It was fun to pretend that she had a sister. 

Sorelli was sitting at her vanity, drying her dark brown hair. The prima ballerina had an en suite bathroom in her dressing room like the prima donna had. Meg always sighed in wistfulness every time it was mentioned.

Sorelli was a breath-taking woman, even without makeup. But she still always meticulously put on makeup. She told the other ladies that it was to prepare for the time when she began to show signs of aging. No one would notice it if she wore the same amount of makeup as she usually did. Christine understood the idea, but preferred to have a bare face as often as she could. It wasn't an option when performing. 

"Oh, Christine, my lovely dove. What brings you here?" Sorelli's voice cooed and Christine began to relax. While the ballerina was kind and sweet most of the time, she could have bad days and it was best to stay clear of her at those times. Luckily it wasn't the case today. 

"Hello, Sorelli. Beautiful performance today. As always." She said politely. Before the other woman could compliment Christine as well  (a compliment she definitely didn't deserve, but Sorelli would lie anyway for the sake of politeness) Christine continued: "As you must've noticed, I have some issues with the role of Carmen. And I hoped that you could help."

Sorelli's lips pursed, but she didn't seem annoyed. Just... intrigued. "I might. Tell me, what do you believe is the problem?" 

The soprano shifted on her feet. It was hard to talk about with someone else. She had gossiped with Meg about these things, a subject that Meg felt quite confident about despite her lack of practical experience. But it was different with Sorelli. They were not equals like she and Meg. And this was about Christine, not one of the other girls. Still she knew that she couldn't hold back if she wanted to do the role of Carmen justice. 

"Carmen is an passionate and daring woman with an appetite for life and adventure. I can't relate to her. Especially not in terms of her..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "... sexuality." The low voice was only for her own sake. Sorelli had always been open about her sexual experience, so she wouldn't be embarrassed to talk about this. Not like Christine was. 

"Oh, but surely you must know something. Aren't the youngest de Chagny courting you?" Her tone betrayed her curiosity. Not many knew about Christine's relationship with Raoul, if one could call it that. 

"Raoul and I aren't officially courting. Even if we were, Raoul is a God-fearing man. He wants to wait until marriage." Sorelli sputtered out a laugh at Christine's last words. She seemed genuinely amused by this and perhaps Christine was as well. It was unusual for a man of his stature to remain chaste. The patrons of the opera were obvious examples of that and Philippe certainly hadn't waited for marriage. 

"Dear Raoul, such a sweet boy." Sorelli said after her laugh had ended. "I can't blame you for not feeling desired around _him_. Perhaps there is someone else you have thought about in such a way?" Sorelli's eyebrows lifted suggestively and Christine turned bright red. 

Her mind pictured long, thin fingers dancing over the keys of a piano, a piercing gaze and a deep sensual voice. No matter how much she tried to repress those thoughts, they always seemed to fight their way into her head. 

"My my, that look tells me everything. Who is this man? Or woman maybe?"

Christine twisted her hands in her skirt. Only a few knew about her teacher and only Madame Giry was aware that Erik also was the Opera Ghost. He would want to keep it that way. But what truly worried her was the fact that she knew that the walls had ears. She wasn't sure where Erik's secret passageways were, but it wasn't unlikely that he had access to listening in on this conversation. It was embarrassing to think about, but she wouldn't humiliate herself further by mentioning anything that would make him realize what her private thoughts regarding him. 

"I would prefer not to say. He's not interested in me anyway."

"Don't be so sure, my dear. Some men are just shy and worry too much about rejection. I wouldn't give up hope if I were you." Christine's heart warmed at Sorelli's reassuring words. "Now, what has your mother told you about what happens between a man and a woman?" Sorelli began to paint her nails in a deep red color. Christine would never be able to wear such a color and she admired the ballerina for being so daring. _She_ would make a better Carmen, despite not being able to sing. 

"I... My mother has been dead for years." She had been too young for such a talk when her mother passed and Mama Valerius had been too old to think of such things. No one had really told her much. Meg had provided her a few basic details, but she didn't know from experience like older women did. It had occurred to Christine to ask Madame Giry, but it felt like overstepping the boundaries of their relationship.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I knew of course, but had completely forgotten. Then has no one else has shared anything about the pleasures of the flesh?" Christine cringed slightly at the blatant expression, but shook her head. Sorelli was not even trying to hide her surprise, momentarily pausing in applying nail polish to look directly at Christine. "My sweetness, that must be rectified. I will tell you everything I know and then I will give you some pointers for your performance. I'll even give you some tips for that mystery man you fancy. Come, sit next to me. Perhaps you will paint my toe nails while we speak?"

Christine eagerly said yes and sat down on a little stool next to Sorelli who lifted her left foot and put it in the soprano's lap. She didn't mind painting a few nails if it meant that she could better her acting and perhaps learn more about romantic intimacy in the process. 

 

*** 

When Christine and Erik at long last arrived at his house that evening, the young woman finally seemed to calm down. On the trip down she had been on edge, jumping every time their hands or clothing touched. She hadn't been like this since the first time he had showed her his home and it worried him. But when she entered the sitting room, she instantly seemed to calm and his worry slowly evaporated. 

It was good because he had promised to help her rehearse the opera and Carmen had proven to be a trying role for Christine. Erik understood why: The wanton and deceiving nature of the gypsy was directly opposite to Christine's sweet and compassionate personality, but he had no doubt that she would be able to conquer this role like she had with many others. 

He guided her into the music room and suggested that they began with Séguedilla. It was less demanding compared to Habanera and there was a possibility for him to join in later in the song. It might calm her further. It often did when they sang together. 

"I talked with Sorelli this afternoon."Of course he already knew this, having seen her enter the prima ballerina's dressing room. He had chosen to give the women some privacy in case that they needed to talk about womanly matters. He had only made the mistake of listening in on such a conversation once.

"She gave me some advices. I would like to know what you think of them." Christine twisted her hands in her skirt - a sign that she was nervous once again. Was he causing this in her? 

He smiled at her to ease her mind. "I will, my dear. I'm sure that her suggestions are useful." He didn't think much about Sorelli. She was a great dancer, that much was true, but other than that she didn't seem very engaged in the rest of the Performance. Still, he would try to look for any small improvements if Christine wished to believe that it had helped to talk to a ballerina without any real acting experience. 

He sat down at the piano, preparing to play, but she stopped him. "Please, you don't have to play. Just watch closely and see if it's acceptable." Her tone was so nervous. Erik nodded quietly and turned around on the bench, but didn't stare directly at her face. She had to relax if she wanted to do her best, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on her voice. Her acting would improve along with her voice; it always did. She needed to believe in her voice first. 

Erik's eyes opened swiftly and fell on hers when she began to sing. There was a sultry tone underlining every note, every word that he had never heard from his protégé before. Though her physical demeanor still betrayed the confident voice, it was enough to impress him.

 _At the place of my friend, Lillas Pastia_  
_I will go to dance the Seguedilla_  
_And to drink Manzanilla_  
_I will go to the place of my friend, Lillas Pastia_

She began to stroll closer to him at a leisurely pace, her shoulders dropping from their tense position and her hands finding her floating skirt. She began to swing the edges of her skirt seductively to the rhythm of the melody, but he found his eyes glued to her brown orbs that seemed to portray more than the words she sang. His hands, that was resting casually on his thighs, unconsciously began to dig into the fabric of his trousers as her song, along with the look in her eyes, swept through him.

Her practice had certainly paid off, he contemplated in the back of his mind and reminded himself that this performance was just a testament to Christine's capabilities. He knew she had it in her, though he had never thought about the reality of it so close to him. His nails dug into his thighs as she reached him.

 _Yes, but all alone, one gets bored,_  
_and the real pleasures are for two;_  
_so, to keep me company,_  
_I will take away my lover_  
_My lover, he has gone to the devil,_  
_I put him out yesterday!_  
_My poor heart, very consolable,_  
_my heart is free, like the air!_  
_I have suiters by the dozen,_  
_But, they are not to my taste_

 _Here it is the weekend;_  
_who wants to love me? I will love him!_  
_Who wants my soul? It's for the taking_

  
Erik was suddenly glad that he wasn't playing accompaniment as he would surely have caused a dissonance the moment Christine gently touched his shoulder. Her hand slid attentively over his neck and to his other shoulder as she walked behind him. He felt his eyes hood as his mind began to imagine her hand continuing down over his chest, her blonde locks tickling his neck as she leans down behind him to whisper the lyrics in his ear. He forced the idea from his mind. He had promised to concentrate. 

At his shoulder she turned around and sensually leaned her back against his side while swaying to the melody. His body became rigid and traitorous; the feelings, he tried so meticulously to hide, erupting inside of him.

He knew that she wasn't try to taunt or tempt him; she didn't know how he reacted to her touch nor how he felt about her. It was him - the disgusting creature - who couldn't keep his body in control around his student and friend who needed his help. Well, perhaps she had received enough guidance from the ballerina after all.

He lay his hands as casually as possible over his unyielding arousal and begged that she would leave swiftly after finishing the song. In all honesty he could tell her that she had perfected her portrayal of Carmen!

 _You're arriving at the right time!_  
_I have hardly the time to wait,_  
_for with my new lover,_  
_near the ramparts of Seville_  
_at the place of my friend, Lillas Pastia!_

  
She turned around again and dropped to her knees beside him. Her small, nimble hands gripped the piano bench right next to his thigh and her suddenly confident eyes met his own that must've betrayed his struggle to control himself. A lovely smile graced her lips and he felt breathless; she was still the Christine he knew.

Her eyes swept down over his body and though he knew that the song was at its end, he had to get up _now;_ had to move away from her. But he wouldn't want her to think that she was the cause of his edginess - though it was her, he reacted to - so he jumped up and took over the role of Don José, interrupting her in the procces. Luckily it fit the role. 

 _Shut up! I told you_  
_not to talk to me!_

He sang with the same barely restrained control as Don José would and Christine instantly seemed to think that he wanted to continue. In reality he wanted to fled the room. With a knowing smile she rose slowly from the floor and walked over to the back of his grand piano. He swallowed a lump in his throat when she leaned over the surface and crawled up on top. Oh, how had she gotten so good at this?

 _I am not talking to you,_  
_I am singing for myself!_  
_And I'm thinking_  
_It's not forbidden to think!_  
_I am thinking of a certain officer,_  
_I am thinking of a certain officer,_  
_Who loves me and whom in turn_  
_Yes, whom in turn, I could really love_

He stepped closer to the piano to hide the telling tent in his trousers behind the holder for sheet music. He should leave; make some tea while cooling down and then congratulating her on her performance before following her back above. But he couldn't tear his eyes off her, much less leave, no matter how hard he tried.

Christine rolled onto her back on the piano's surface and lifted her right leg to let her foot rest on the top of the piano. Her skirt bunched up, so her unstockinged taut calf was visible. Erik fought back a groan as he followed the bare skin and barely managed to croak Don José's line.

_Carmen!_

She sat up on the piano without hurry, gently lowered her skirt to cover herself and slid down from the top. She walked over to the bench again, pushing it to the side with a strong leg. She was casually avoiding looking at Erik, but obviously aware of his presence, exactly as Carmen would in the scene. He wondered if she had noticed how tense he was, but no, she would undoubtedly have ended this if that was the case. 

She neared him again; this time with intent. He cursed inwardly that the piano blocked him from escaping as she came up to stand almost flush up against him. She looked up at him as she sang to him.

 _My officer is not a captain;_  
_not even a lieutenant,_  
_he is only a corporal,_  
_but, that's enough for a gypsy_  
_and I deign to be contented with him._

It felt to him as if she was truly singing to him. Not as an audience to her performance or a teacher who would correct her mistakes, but to Erik; the man in front of her. He suddenly felt as Don José, seduced by Carmen's charms, though he knew that it was wrong to give in to the fantasy. The words and movements flowed naturally for him as he gripped her upper arms tightly and turned her around; restraining her wrists in one hand and leaning closer to her.

She responded to his voice with shivers, even as unhinged as it sounded at this moment. He cursed himself for singing with her. It was so much more intimate than just listening to her. 

Unwillingly his free hand slipped under her long curls and caressed her neck. She lowered her head to give him access. 

 _Carmen, I am like a man, intoxicated_  
_If I give in, if I surrender,_  
_Your promise, will you keep it?_  
_Ah! if I love you, Carmen_  
_Carmen, will you love me?_

He let her hands go and wondered if he had come on too strong. Would she believe that he was just acting or realize the truth - what a wretched gargoyle he was? She instantly turned around and met his eyes. She looked wild. Her blonde curls in disarray after lying on the piano and her eyes focused and passionate while she swayed so close to him. 

Together, they sang, and it felt so intoxicating that he didn't know how he found his breath. She grasped the lapels of his tailcoat while his hands dropped to her waist and pulled him closer. In the back of his mind he reminded himself that this was a rehearsal for Christine; that this duet was about Carmen tricking Don José into letting her go. But he lost his mind as they sang fervently together.

 _Yes, we will dance the Seguedilla_  
_while drinking Manzanilla_  
_Near the ramparts of Seville_  
_At the place of my friend, Lillas Pastia_  
_We will go to dance the Seguidilla_  
_and to drink Manzanilla_

When the last words left them, his resolve snapped and in a dangerous bout of madness he bent down to claim her lips. Oh, the heavenly feeling of his thin, cold lips touching the warm pillowy softness of hers! He had only meant it to be a quick brush against her mouth, but it was impossible to resist the sensation, he was met with, so he added a little pressure.

She gasped against his mouth and he began to pull back, but she stopped him by clutching the lapels of his tailcoat tighter until she had closed the last distance between them.

He realized then: She didn't die! He kissed her and she was still alive and seemed to welcome his kiss. Music and colors filled the room around them and he felt his heart plunge deeper into the pit of love.

He slanted his lips over hers and in a daring move tentatively slipped out his tongue to brush over her bottom lip. Her lips parted in a sigh and cautiously he slipped his tongue into her mouth to explore. She moaned, a sound more beautiful than any instrument could play, and let her tongue caress his. It was glorious and soon their lips were locked in a fervent pas de deux.

Her hands let go of his coat and travelled over his thin chest and then his shoulders, feeling every inch of his cursed carcass, but he would let her, oh yes, as long as she never stopped kissing him. His own hands were quick to find her blonde coils that he had longed to feel between his fingers. They were even softer than he had imagined and felt more healing than any medicine.

Blood rushed through his veins and he was more aroused than he had ever imagined was possible. His body craved relief and in a traitorous act, his hips pushed against her body. The brief contact made him leave her lips for a moment to moan loudly.

In an instant she had drawn away from him, leaving him empty-handed and cold without her near him. Her surprised eyes met his eyes, then moved down to his lips and to his horror ending at his trousers. Her brown eyes widened at the sight as realization hit her. Yes, this repulsive animal lusted for her sweet body, she knew it now. He felt shame rush over him, greater than any he had ever felt before.

To spare her being reminded of her mistake, he hurried into his bedroom in indignity. He fell against the closed door in guilt over allowing himself to touch such a pure woman as Christine. God would never forgive him now. Neither would the beautiful angel in the music room. He deserved no forgiveness. 

Hopefully Christine would go back to the world of light and the living and forget all about the awful beast who had taken advantage of her. He listened carefully for any sound in the house, but couldn't hear any. She must've left already, running away in disgust. May God offer her peace from these moments! Sometimes loss of memory was the best.

He closed his eyes like he had done when he was a child, believing that the world would disappear if he couldn't see it. But all he saw in his mind was Christine's graceful movements, her big brown eyes and her full, pink lips. His manhood jumped in response. It still hadn't gone down, despite his repentant and humiliating thoughts. He pushed his palm against it to offer a slight relief and inadvertently moaned at the touch as he was reminded of the moment it had come into contact with Christine.

He should punish himself by suffering the arousal without release, he knew he should. But what good would it do when the damage was done? He would already have to live with the punishment of losing Christine. His arousal would no doubt just lead him to do rash things like visiting her upstairs and gawking at her when she thought that she was finally free of him. No, it would be better to take control over his desire now.

He rose from the door, shrugged off his tailcoat and sat down on his bed, not bothering to toss the sheets aside. He popped up a few pillows against the headboard and leaned back. Urgently he opened his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, so he had room to pull out his erection from his drawers. It throbbed painfully in his hand, the angry red head leaking white fluid and veins bulging out all around his shaft. He closed his eyes as he gripped it hard and stroked it once. His body cried for release. 

Shamefully he imagined Christine's hand touching him, her soft body against his, her tongue inside his mouth. Suddenly he realized: Her saliva had mixed with his own. He let go from his manhood and licked the palm of his hand until it was wet with saliva, some of it definitely Christine's. It would be like her mouth touching his... A shot of arousal hit him so violently that he almost fell over the edge at that moment. He was panting.

He lowered his wet hand to grasp his shaft, hissing at the feeling. Christine's mouth would be warm of course and the saliva had already cooled, but it didn't matter. He stroked himself once, twice, three times; a pained moan echoing in the room with each stroke. He gasped and whimpered as his slick hand moved up and down. He was already feeling his release nearing.

That's when he heard the creak of the door and an resounding gasp. His body froze, his eyes opening and to his absolute horror, he saw Christine standing at the entrance to his bedroom. Her eyes directly staring at his crotch where his left hand was gripping his erection.

For some reason he couldn't move. His body wouldn't react and there was no words to save either of them from this mortifying situation. His pulse pounded in his head along with the throbbing in his shaft. One would've thought that an embarrassing situation like this would make it go flaccid, but instead it appeared to swell at the sight of the woman, it had come into contact with.

Slowly Christine's eyes lifted to his own, but he couldn't discern the emotions he saw in them. Her eyes were hooded and displayed something not unlike what he had seen in them when they had sung together only a short while ago. She began to walk closer to him, her gaze flicking questioningly between his eyes to his erection. His mind screamed for his limps to move, but they remained stubbornly frozen while Christine moved closer. A hard breath escaped him when she sat down on the bed, just next to his thigh.

He felt rather than saw her gaze move over the details of his manhood. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip and a groan left him. Whether it was of embarrassment or longing, he wasn't sure. With a guarded expression he watched as she lifted her right hand and moved it closer to his left that was wrapped around his hardness. When she put her small hand over his much larger one, he felt like he was struck by lighting. He inhaled sharply as his manhood twitched under their joined hands and more white liquid leaked from the head. 

"Oh," she breathed in surprise and looked back at him. He couldn't avoid her eyes, no matter how much he wished that he could. "Show me. Please." She whispered and tightened her grip on his hand. The blush in her cheeks deepened. There was no way he could deny this angel anything, even if she wanted to see the wicked things he did.

Painstakingly slow he began to move his hand over his erection again; her hand following the movement with interest. Her gaze was back on the place they touched, watching attentively. He watched as well; her hand there was better than any fantasy he could conjure up. He began to pick up the pace, but not too fast. He had to memorize every second of this because it would be the closest he would ever come to the pleasures of the flesh.

Suddenly she removed her hand from his and he stopped. With a peculiar expression she began to gently pry his fingers away from his erection and he let her, not knowing where she was going with this. When he was freed from his own hand, she looked at his shaft for a moment before wrapping her own fingers directly around it. A struggled groan rumbled in his throat and he saw a small smile grace her concentrated features.

She couldn't quite reach around his girth, but in her attempt to do so, she gripped him even tighter than he himself had done. This time he whimpered pathetically as he restrained his lust. He resolved to stay in control and not ejaculate so soon.

That resolve swiftly crumbled when she began to stroke him. Slowly at first like he had done himself in front of her, but steadily increasing. 

When her thumb slid over the bead of liquid on his head, he threw his head back and thrust his hips into her palm, moaning her name loudly. Immediately she moved further up the bed and when he lifted his head again, her face was right there. "Will you kiss me?" she whispered, wetting her lips after the words had been spoken. Her hand still worked up and down his length and yet, the world zoned in on her lips. He couldn't deny her anything.

He moved down to meet her lips and she responded with unabridged ardour. As her mouth seemed to claim him, her hand grasped him in a steel grip and stroked him rigorously. His hands found their way into her hair, pulling her closer to him. All sensations in his body intensified. He held her firm against his chest when he paused the kiss to cry out her name in utter ecstasy as he reached his climax. The world closed in on him with her by his side. It brought tears to his eyes. 

They both lay panting against each other as he came down. Her hand was on his manhood that had soften, but certainly not gone flaccid. Even after the most erotic and satisfying moment of his life, he still felt a dash of arousal by the feel of her hand. Oh, how she felt against him; her body against his chest and her head on his shoulder! He never wanted this moment to end. 

Carefully he met her illuminating eyes. She appeared exhilarated, yet her eyes were still hooded. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to kiss her, so he hesitated for a moment until she lifted her head further. He let his lips glide over hers, wishing to be gentle with her. However it wasn't what Christine seemed to want. She deepened the kiss and pushed herself hard against him with a moan. When her hips undulated against his thigh, he understood what she needed. How selfish he had been! 

He rolled her over him to lie down on the bed and quickly found a handkerchief and cleaned up his spilled desire from her hand and himself, tucking himself away in the process. Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear: "Do you want me to touch you, Christine?" She shivered and nodded eagerly, so he kissed her deeply as his hand began to bunch up her skirts.

He didn't have any experience, but plenty of knowledge from years of studying. His curiosity for the female body had been insatiable the first decades after his pubety until he realized that no woman would give herself to him freely. He would never force a woman and even if he was such a monster, he didn't need to know how to pleasure a woman. But he still retained the knowledge, even after years of not needing.

However he discovered that it was hard to access that knowledge when he had Christine in his arms, something he had never expected to happen. He also found that his body recovered quite fast when her small, warm hands caressed his clothed body. She managed to tug his cravat off and unbutton the top of his shirt until his waistcoat was in the way. Then she didn't hesitate to slide her hands over the open patch of skin.

He knew that his face wasn't the only unattractive thing about him, though his body's vile appearance had been caused by years of abuse, both in the hands of others as well as himself. The thought that she would run away if she saw how marred his skin was, made him panic. To stop her from exploring him further, he lay down on top of her while kissing down her jaw and throat. Her hands moved to his covered back instead where she couldn't reach his skin.

He was horrified when her hands removed his wig and drifted onto his almost bare scalp. This time his manhood falthered. He felt completely emasculated. But Christine didn't seem to notice his worry. She lightly scratched his scalp and pulled the thin strands of hair, making him moan. He was instantly erect again and he forgot his humiliation.

Her responses were also extremely clear when he kissed and sucked her throat. Sounds of whimpering and keening left her whenever he did something particularly enjoyable. His hand had finally managed to find her bare thighs beneath the metres of skirts and he growled at the softness of the skin there. Just when he thought that she couldn't get any softer! 

Slowly he slid his hand toward the apex of her legs, giving her a chance to stop him if it was too much. But when she lifted her hips, he got the hint and reached for her bloomers. It was easy to find the slit, especially since the fabric around it was damp. It was a heady thought to think how aroused she was and that she wanted _him_ to give her relief!

He tentatively parted the slit to make room for his fingers and was met with the warm slickness that made him even harder in his trousers. Oh, touching her wetness with his finger was incredible. To think of joining his flesh with hers was immoral and so wrong, but he couldn't stop himself as his finger moved up her inner lips. 

A loud moan informed him of the moment he found her pleasure point; a hard bud at the top of her hidden lips. She pushed her hips against his hand and he quietly chuckled in triumph as he began to circle the little nub. Instinctively he felt that he should press down hard, but he remembered having read that most women wanted a gentle touch there, so he was careful with what he did.

Christine had thrown her head back, holding his head in place by her throat as she panted and lifted her hips to increase the friction. He moved his whole hand inside her bloomers and let his thumb caress her bud. It allowed him to slide a finger down to her core and cautiously push it inside her.

She cried out his name and he felt her inner walls contracting around his finger; her entire body pulsating with pleasure. She panted his name repeatedly, unquestioningly making it the most fantastic experience of his long life.

He eased her down from her climax before removing his fingers slowly from her bloomers and lowering her skirts. But he didn't move away from her just yet. He had wanted her near him after he had climaxed and perhaps she wanted the same. He lifted his eyes to find hers and was glad to see that she wasn't horrified by the experience. She looked quite content.

He wanted to taste her glistening lips once more and moved up to her face, inadvertently dragging his arousal over her thigh and alerting her of its presence. It wasn't on purpose and he didn't want her to feel that he hadn't been satisfied before - he definitely had! He had just found it so arousing to touch her!

But Christine just looked at him with a seductive smile before kissing him deeply and, as much as her skirts made possible, wrapped her legs around his waist. 

This production of Carmen was sure to be the greatest, the world had ever seen.

 

***

La Sorelli watched as Christine sang Habanera for the male cast members gathered on the stage, moving between the men with a fluid sensuality that impressed everyone in the auditorium.

It was the last rehearsal before opening night and the young woman was ready. Christine had taken the prima ballerina's advice and done well. When Sorelli had begun to tell the mousy soprano about the joys and pleasures in carnality, the inner Christine had started to come out and it only took a few pointers and a gentle push in the right direction for her to reach her potential.

She was now the embodiment of Carmen and had clearly found another man than Raoul to entertain her if the badly covered hickeys were any indications. After all the Vicomte was at the North Pole right now.

There was no worry anymore that he would marry beneath his station. Philippe would be quite satisfied with Sorelli after this. 


End file.
